


A Watchful Eye

by fractured_mirror



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hurt/Comfort, If I made you google fig pollination I am sorry, Look I woke up one day and needed to write almost 3000 words of people getting stared at, M/M, My First Fanfic, Not Beta Read, Possession, Psychological Trauma, Staring, The Magnus Archives Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractured_mirror/pseuds/fractured_mirror
Summary: "Statement of Beholding, the Ceaseless Watcher of all that is and all that was, dictated to its Archive on the first and last day of the new age."Supposing there was a regular season 5 statement-type episode for the Eye...(My first fic ever, hopefully someone likes it!)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	A Watchful Eye

“Okay, so what’re the F-tier fruits, then?” Martin asked, looking distantly off towards the horizon and trying to ignore his aching feet. They’d been walking for what felt like ages in the last stretch of the journey to London.

“Figs, mostly,” Jon grumbled next to him. “Oh, and pomegranates. I just want fruit; I don’t want to have to block off my whole afternoon for it. And just eating _six_ seeds in the underworld means Hades can marry you? They don’t even taste that great. Not worth it. Overrated fruit.”

Martin tried to suppress a chuckle. He mostly failed. Here they were, epic quest through a blighted landscape and all that, and Jon was passionately ranking fruit. He couldn’t even remember how they’d gotten onto the fruit tier list, but he didn’t care. He was fine just looking at Jon, seeing his eyes full of love, and empathy for all the horrors of the world, and apparently some very deeply held opinions about grapefruit.

“Well, I _guess_ those are…reasons to hate pomegranates, but what did figs do to deserve this? I’m pretty sure I don’t even _think_ about figs often enough to hate them.”

“No, listen—trust me,” Jon began, “there’s just too much weird trivia baggage there for me to properly enjoy them. Can’t eat the damn things without thinking about…dead wasps.”

Martin blinked. “Do-Do I _want_ to know whatever it is you know about figs?”

“You don’t.”

“Well, all right then.” Martin took Jon’s hand as they walked. “I’ll keep that in mind for when all this is over, and we start having shopping lists again. No figs.”

Jon was quiet for a moment, staring down at the ground in front of them and up at the looming Panopticon. Eventually, he turned to look at Martin and his expression softened. “Yeah…no figs.”

“How much longer till London?”

“It doesn’t—” Jon began. Martin shot him a _look_ and he stopped to collect his thoughts a bit. “Right. If I had to guess, I think it’ll at least _feel_ like a few days?”

“All that, and then we just get this big boring open stretch at the end? That’s a bit anti-climactic, isn’t it?”

“You’d prefer the alternative?”

“No. No, I suppose not. It just makes me antsy, is all.”

“Mm.”

They walked a little while longer in silence, until Martin felt a tug on his hand and turned to see that Jon had stopped dead in his tracks.

“…Jon?”

Something was wrong.

Jon was staring, wide-eyed and ashen-faced, straight up at the sky. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and his hand was starting to tremble in Martin’s.

“J-Jon? Are-are you okay? What’s the matter?”

“I-I…M-Ma-…It’s… Th-there’s a…Go…I…I need to…” Jon gasped, fumbling for something in his clothes and producing a tape recorder suspiciously easily.

“A statement? _Here?_ Jon, there’s- there’s nothing here, we’re nowhere near a domain.”

“It’s…G-go, I…can’t…Ah…I-It… _hurts_ …I… _Jonathan,”_ Jon managed, and collapsed into violent convulsions.

“Jon?!” Martin yelped in alarm. He was just barely able to catch Jon as he went down, and he ended up on his knees with Jon sprawled across his lap.

 _“Be still,”_ Jon hissed, and Martin felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He realized with growing dread that Jon was still staring at the sky, his eyes fixed in place and unblinking even as the rest of him thrashed around.

Then the world shifted and _focused_ , and Martin suddenly felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. An oppressive weight settled over his shoulders, and a wave of pure cold screaming _terror_ rose in his chest. Every nerve in his body cried out that he was being watched; that _it_ had spotted him and there was nowhere to run _._ He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe.

Jon, meanwhile, was still struggling weakly in his arms, his eyes alight with fear and…other emotions Martin wasn’t really up to thinking about. He let out a whimper, and then a stream of muttered nonsense spilled from his mouth like blood from a wound.

_“Fear flowing freely ribcage heart pounding two missing two people reach inside like hands grasping breaking twisting beckoning mind yielding pupil widening speak know the eye it sees it watches I see you I see you **I see you** …”_

His voice was soft and low, but intense beyond anything Martin had heard before. Menacing. The words were practically dripping with power. Martin could only watch as Jon gasped for breath and continued, getting more coherent as he went.

_“Jonathan your eyes are for me I see you I see you both…your panic in your hearts a gift, a feast a welcome offering…but not…needed. No need for your panic this is…a message…only. There is…s-something I wish to show you. Be still. And speak. And listen. And **see.** ”_

Jon let out a deep but shaky breath and relaxed in Martin’s arms. Or his body did, at least. His face never slipped into the distant, enthralled expression that he usually got during statements. Even as his speech turned smooth and fluent, it was plain to see that he was awake, aware, and horribly, horribly afraid.

_“S-Statement…of…Beholding, the Ceaseless Watcher of all that is and all that was, dictated to its Archive on this, the first and last day of the new age. Statement begins.”_

Martin wanted to shout, to shake him out of it, _anything_ but just sit there helplessly _,_ but he was still completely frozen in fear. So he listened.

_“You are…surprised. Frightened. To hear…words from me, thoughts. Rest assured, you have not mistaken my nature; I have no words, no thoughts, no…self. I am not a ‘me,’ not as you are. I simply am, and I See, and my being and my sight remain beyond your comprehension. But you are Known to me—I turn my gaze to the constant buzzing noise within you, and I know that you cannot be without a self, cannot see without thought, cannot know without words and endless, meaningless grasping for meaning._

_“And so I extend my being into yours, forcing my knowledge into yours even as the cramped and narrow filter of your mind shatters it into shards that cut and tear their way down into the core of you. Archive these shards, then, and piece them together into thought. And when my being becomes thoughts, which become words, which become the sounds that you so desperately attach meaning to…Perhaps then you will See what I wish to show you._

_“And what I wish to show you is this: the domain which exists for you in the foundations of the tower at the heart of the world. Look upon it now.”_

Jon _screamed._ His eyes went wide—well, _wider_ —and he started writhing in Martin’s arms. His breaths were shallow and choked with sobs, but the words still came out smoothly a moment later:

_“Here you will be free of doubt and ignorance and hunger.”_

Jon was clawing at his neck, reaching up to his face, but every time his hands neared his eyes, they jerked back reflexively. Martin desperately willed himself to move, to _help_. Maybe if he could shield Jon’s eyes from the sky? It certainly seemed to be what Jon wanted to do.

_“You will know only fear, in all its myriad forms, laid out pure and perfect before our eyes.”_

Martin found to his surprise that he could actually twitch his fingers. Everything in him was shrieking that any movement would attract _its_ attention, that he would be _seen_ , but he could push through it. It was a long way from putting his hand over Jon’s eyes, but an improvement from before.

Maybe it’s distracted with putting things in Jon’s head, he thought bitterly. Bet he’s _really_ fun to look at right now.

_“And yet you turn your Eye from this place which holds all that is worth seeing. You intend to leave your kingdom with no ruler.”_

Jon was choking, drowning right before Martin’s eyes…Okay. Moving his whole arm was probably out of the question, but he could rock his head back and forth a bit. Just…Just a little farther forward each time…

_“All because you cling to the nagging dread of what you might become, a trifling little fear which blinds you to the great bounty of terror that could be yours—”_

With every ounce of strength he had, Martin leaned forward to look directly down into Jon’s face, blocking his line of sight to the sky.

He had a split second to realize that eye contact had been a bad idea, and then his mind went blank. Or, no, not blank: just so full of tiny snippets of information that none of it could possibly make any sense, the way an all-black page is just as unreadable as an all-white one. Half-formed images raced across his mind, never fully taking shape. His ears were ringing, and his mouth tasted like metal, and everything smelled like old books. He felt a burning pins-and-needles sensation etch its way across his face, where Jon’s eyes were looking, and across his shoulders and the back of his head, where the sky was looking.

God, how could Jon even function with this thing inside of him? How could he think anything when he Knew _everything?_

After a few very long seconds, the awful burning stare subsided, returning to a more bearable—if still crushing—level. As the flickering images slowed down and faded away, Martin saw just one of them clearly: a bird’s-eye-view of a man tied to the Archive’s bookshelves with magnetic tape, struggling against his bonds. The huge sharp bulk of a monstrous wolf stalking down the aisle towards him. Rows of captive people peering out from the higher shelves on both sides, looking on in silent horror. The man’s pleading, tear-streaked face looking up at each of them, looking up at Martin, desperately begging for help. A sickening sense of _satisfaction_ as fangs met flesh.

He could feel tears welling up in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

At least Jon seemed able to breathe again. He stammered out a few nonsense syllables before the statement continued:

_“You worry for the one you love. This place will make a statement of him.”_

Jon’s eyes focused in close on Martin’s and the visions slammed into him again. His mind filled with thick, cold fog, and trying to think through it only brought up images of empty, oppressively silent libraries full of books in unfamiliar languages, deserted help desks, and the constant impersonal presence of cold security cameras.

_“His fear is sweet, and we shall drink of it deeply.”_

Martin was back in Jon’s office with a smoking pile of statements next to him; he could almost see a pair of cruel eyes looking down on him, looking _into_ him, boring into his skull and leaving his mother’s caustic hate in their wake.

No, he actually _could_ see those eyes, glaring up at him from Jon’s face, his eyes were so cold and sharp and everything about him felt _wrong_ and Martin was _alone,_ he was alone with this _thing_ that had taken Jon, and now the weight of its gaze was on _him_ and it was…

 _Distracted._ The thought came unbidden to his mind, a tiny undercurrent in the torrent of fear that was pouring into him. His attention was gently shifted from Elias’s eyes to the ashes of the statements beside him. _A diversion. A chance._

One of Jon’s hands twitched a few times. Then it shakily reached out to cover Martin’s eyes.

The Eye’s grip loosened just enough for Martin to snap out of it. He jerked his head back and took a few ragged, sobbing breaths with his eyes closed.

Jon’s entire body spasmed and his hand fell away. When Martin looked at him, his eyes were fixed on the sky again.

 _“You want his fear as I do. You long to reach into the depths of his mind and Know him completely. You yearn to feel him writhe in terror under your gaze as his soul is bared to you.”_ Jon shuddered as he said it. Martin swallowed hard.

_“I Know you are not likely to choose what you want. You would instead see him travel through your domain untouched. But this domain is not yours, Jonathan, not yet. It is wild, a mindless, unfeeling part of me, and it takes indiscriminately from all who enter. If you were to embrace it fully and mold it to your will, you could perhaps grant him safe passage—but not as you are now, averting your eyes from that which feeds you. You cannot escape it if you hope to control it._

_“You see, then, that it benefits neither of us to let the Archives lie fallow. You are being fed, but you are quite particular in how you wish to take your sustenance; I have a steady source of fear, but I delight in taking my statements through your eyes. We Know what can be done about this._

_“Jonathan. You who have spoken this world unto me and placed me first among us. You who are my eyes, my voice, my Archive. Come to me and take the place that is prepared for you. Join with me as one in glorious, eternal sight. Step across the threshold of our domain and I. Will. Make. You. Whole.”_

Jon gasped as his patron finally released him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell limp in Martin’s arms.

Martin drew him in close and held him tight until he came around, crying softly into his shirt the whole time. Jon stirred and returned the hug, and they stayed like that for what could have been minutes or hours.

“I…um…” Jon broke the silence first, but he seemed at a loss for words.

“Well, _shit,”_ Martin supplied.

“…Yeah.”

Martin pulled back to get a good look at Jon. “Are you okay?”

“Um…Yes. Yes, I think so.” Jon’s voice was hoarse, but the color had returned to his face. “As okay as I can be after that, at least. Thanks, by the way. For interrupting it when it was, uh… _showing_ me the Archives. It really- It really took the edge off.”

“Good. I’m- I’m glad. Thanks for, uh, rescuing me from rescuing you?”

Jon looked away. “I’m…sorry, Martin. God, I’m so sorry. I-I said I wouldn’t let it harm you…”

“And you didn’t,” Martin said firmly. “So thanks.”

“R-Right.”

Martin stood first, then helped Jon up.

“So, what now?”

Jon sighed. “Honestly? My first instinct is to turn around and wander through the apocalypse forever rather than go to London,” he said, looking at his feet, “but I…I don’t think that has much chance of changing anything. The Institute is at the center of all this, and if we’re choosing to believe there’s a way to fix the world, well…I can’t think of anywhere better to look for it.”

Martin took Jon’s hand. “You’re sure? I mean, obviously I want to just barge in there and kill Elias and save the day, but…but it sounds like the Eye’s going to try trapping at least one of us in the Archives on the way up. Either me as a victim or you as…as the avatar, and that’s…” He tried to keep his voice steady. “That’s not worth it.”

Jon held Martin’s gaze for a long time before he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “Martin, I’ve been thinking for a while now about…about how much of a monster I’m willing to become. Like, if getting closer to the Eye gives me the power to keep you safe, or help people, or even just get revenge…I’ve been thinking about whether it’s worth it to me.”

“And is it?”

“Well…I have to admit that part of me thinks _its_ offer is- is tempting,” Jon said quietly. “Taking over my domain so I can let you go on without me. It sounds like my style, doesn’t it?” He smiled weakly for a second, and then looked stern again. “And it’s not like I would be suffering,” he said bitterly. “The things it showed me were overwhelming, but they were- well, _beautiful_ isn’t the right word, but _breathtaking_. I could lose myself in there and not even mind.”

Martin gulped, remembering the sharp, cold look he’d seen in Jon’s eyes. His throat felt dry.

“But…” Jon continued.

“But?”

“Remember what you said in the Lonely? That it would be comfortable to stay there, but not a good comfort?” Martin nodded. “I think it’s the same sort of thing. I _would_ be happy in the Archives, even if I don’t want to think that I would. And you might be safer if I were in charge. But I… I don’t think that’s the kind of happiness that I want. And I’m guessing it’s not the kind of safety you want either.”

“No,” Martin confirmed. “It absolutely isn’t.”

“Right. So, Martin, I promise I won’t sacrifice myself for the power to keep you safe. Whatever ends up happening in there…We’ll face our fate together.”

Jon squeezed Martin’s hand. Martin squeezed back.

“Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> The banter at the beginning was inspired by this lovely animatic of one of the Q&As: https://crabapplesinc.tumblr.com/post/624249271093526528/pears-or-apples-tma-jonny-gets-heated-about
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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